


Basic Truth of the Human Condition

by kjack89



Series: House M.D. AU [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctors, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - House M.D. Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctors & Physicians, Established Relationship, HIV/AIDS, Hospitals, M/M, Major Illness, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>House M.D.</em> AU. After fainting at work, Courfeyrac is brought to the hospital and diagnosed with the flu. Grantaire thinks there's more to it than that; Combeferre tells him to leave it alone but Grantaire, of course, doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Truth of the Human Condition

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't seem to leave this AU alone.
> 
> As per usual, all medical knowledge comes from not doctors, so do not take any medical advice or whatever herein contained as valid. Usual disclaimer beyond that. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

Courfeyrac leaned against the receptionist’s desk, smiling cheerfully at her. “You’ve done something with your hair, haven’t you?”

She blushed and patted her hair almost subconsciously. “Oh, Mr. de Courfeyrac, I’m surprised you noticed. Though I don’t know why I should be — you old flirt.”

Courfeyrac touched his chest as if offended. “Me? A flirt? Perish the thought.” He winked at her. “But hey, if flirting with my favorite receptionist at the DA’s office is enough to get me bumped to an earlier meeting time…”

“For shame,” she said, shaking her head, though she was smiling. “Flirting would get you a lot further if you didn’t have a boyfriend, you realize.”

Nodding, Courfeyrac sighed heavily. “The perils of monogamy, I know. But it  _is_  for his sake that I want an earlier meeting time. It’s date night tonight, and we  _finally_  got a reservation at that new Italian place down on 4th street.”

“Oh, I’ve heard good things about that place! You two will enjoy it, I’m sure.” She flipped through the appointment book in front of her. “And you are the luckiest son of a gun I know. The DA has a cancellation in fifteen minutes, and I can squeeze you in.”

Courfeyrac let out a whoop and bent to pick her hand up off her desk and lift it to his lips. “You, madam, are a miracle worker.”

She blushed even redder and pulled her hand away. “Go and sit down,” she scolded. “And tell Dr. Combeferre hello from me.”

Winking at her once more, Courfeyrac took a seat in the waiting area, pulling out his phone to text Combeferre: “ _Good news! Got my meeting changed. I’ll actually be on time for dinner, so if we miss our reservation, it’s your fault. xo_ ”. He picked up one of the back issues of  _National Geographic_  from the waiting room table, flipping through it idly as he waited for the next fifteen minutes to pass. His head and throat hurt and his stomach had been doing somersaults all day, but Courfeyrac was damned if he was going to miss this meeting, or worse, date night with Combeferre. They’d already had to reschedule the last two date nights because of work, so Courfeyrac wasn’t going to let what felt like the onset of a cold stop him.

Finally, the DA came out of his office, smiling at Courfeyrac, even if his smile looked far more like a grimace. “Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac bounced to his feet, and started to cross the room to him, when suddenly, he felt incredibly dizzy, as if the room was tilting under his feet. Reaching out to try to steady himself, Courfeyrac instead felt faint, and before he could stop himself, he began to fall, hitting his head against the side of the receptionist’s desk as he did.

Lying on the ground staring up at the ceiling, which still seemed to be moving, just like the floor had been, Courfeyrac closed his eyes and groaned, “Shit.”

* * *

 

The phone vibrated on Combeferre’s desk and he picked it up, smiling when he saw the text from Courfeyrac. Grantaire stared at him from where he sat across his desk. “That’s an awfully cheerful smile,” Grantaire pointed out. “Who are you texting?”

“What business is it of yours?” Combeferre asked mildly, setting his phone back on his desk.

Grantaire smirked. “I just like to keep on top of who you’re fucking. Metaphorically speaking, anyway, though I’m sure you know that if you ever want a threesome, you only need to ask.”

“Ha ha,” Combeferre said dryly, settling back in his seat. “Getting back to far more serious business, and away from the topic of my love life, your hearing before the review board is next week, and I want to make sure that you’re prepared for it. Which is to say, please tell me that you’re not planning on calling the board members ‘stodgy old coots’ like you did last time, not the least because no one should actually use the words ‘stodgy’ or ‘coots’ anymore.”

Making a face, Grantaire leaned back in his seat, starting to put his feet up on Combeferre’s desk, though he stopped when he saw Combeferre’s expression. “Oh come on,” he scoffed, then sighed and sat back upright. “Fine, make me sit in pain. Because this is going to be a productive meeting.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes and opened the file on his desk. “Let’s go over the events from that day one more time, just to make sure that we’ve got everything recorded properly. If there’s any luck, we won’t have discrepancies, and this meeting, as painful as it may be for you, will be short.”

Unfortunately, the meeting was not going to be short, since Grantaire, despite his claims of pain, seemed to have a snarky comeback for every point raised in the report, and it seemed to take forever before Combeferre finally closed the file. “Now that that’s out of your system,” he said waspishly, “can you please  _not_  say any of that at your review board meeting?”

Grantaire opened his mouth to reply, already smirking, but was cut off when Combeferre’s phone rang. Combeferre glanced down at it and frowned, surprised to see it was Courfeyrac calling. “Just a moment, I need to take this.” He picked up his phone. “Can this wait, Courf? I’m in a meeting.”

There was a pause before an unfamiliar voice said, “Is this Dr. Combeferre?”

Combeferre stiffened. “This is he. Who is this? And why do you have Courfeyrac’s cell phone?”

“My name is Hank Bender, and I’m an EMT. Your boyfriend fainted earlier and hit his head, so we’re taking him to your hospital. He’s awake now, and talking, though we’re trying to get him to answer our questions and he’s instead talking nonsense.”

Standing almost subconsciously, Combeferre’s grip on his phone tightened. “Fainted?” he repeated. “What happened? And how are his stats?”

“His stats are good, blood pressure is a little high, 165/93, but nothing to be too concerned about. He’s running a fever and is complaining of flu-like symptoms. Probably just the flu and nothing to be concerned about. We’ve got him on a saline drip and we’re monitoring all of his stats, and we’re pulling up to the ER now.”

In the background, Combeferre could hear Courfeyrac saying loudly, “I’m  _fine_ , you don’t have to take me to the hospital. Damnit, I’ve got a date tonight!”

Combeferre closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You should probably tell him that date night is cancelled,” he told the EMT, struggling to keep his voice calm. “I’ll meet you at the emergency room entrance. Thank you for calling me.” He hung up and stared down at his phone for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shaking. “I, uh, I need to go down to the emergency room. Courfeyrac…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, and didn’t wait for Grantaire’s response, heading straight from his office to the emergency room. He tried not to run, tried not even to walk too quickly, smiling tightly at the doctors and nurses that greeted him as he went. All he wanted was to run straight there, to run to Courfeyrac’s side, to hold his hand and kiss him and tell him not to  _scare_  him like that.

Instead, he took the long way so that the EMTs would have plenty of time to admit Courfeyrac, for the nurses to draw some blood for their tests or whatever, even though with every step he took, he could’ve sworn his own blood pressure and heart rate spiked, desperately wanting to see Courfeyrac, to verify for himself that he was ok.

Finally, though, he had to get to the emergency room, and there was Courfeyrac, transferred onto one of the hospital beds in one of the private ER rooms, IV in his arm. Courfeyrac’s face lit up when he saw him, but Combeferre ignored him for the moment, asking the nurse in a hoarse voice, “How are his stats?”

“About the same,” the nurse told him. “Seems to be the flu, and they’ve drawn some blood for tests.”

Combeferre nodded, and finally turned to Courfeyrac, biting his lip to avoid blurting out everything he wanted to, instead saying in as glib a tone as he could manage, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We need to not meet like this,” Courfeyrac told him solemnly, though a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Combeferre moved over to Courfeyrac’s side, grabbing his hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly, trying not to cry at the sight of Courfeyrac lying in a hospital bed, even if it would be crying half with relief.

Courfeyrac smiled almost sheepishly. “I feel so stupid,” he admitted. “I wasn’t feeling well all day and I probably should’ve just stayed home from work, but I needed to go over something at the DA’s office, and I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, but then I got really dizzy, and kind of fell and hit my head, and, well, the next thing you know I’m in an ambulance and they’re asking me for my emergency contact, and I panicked and told them you were my emergency contact.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him. “You panicked?” he repeated. “It took panicking to get you to say I was your emergency contact?”

If Courfeyrac’s face hadn’t already been flushed from the fever, he would have blushed. “You know what I mean,” he muttered. “There are rules, and things…I technically work for you, and I was the one who said that legally, we needed to keep our relationship on the downlow, and…”

He trailed off, and Combeferre’s expression turned fond, and he leaned over to kiss Courfeyrac’s forehead. “You idiot,” he told him. “Yes, we need to keep our relationship on the downlow, but the Board of Directors knows about it, and I  _am_  your emergency contact for a reason, and not just because we’ve been dating for close to a year now.” He cleared his throat and said in a voice suspiciously choked, as if with tears, “I love you.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac told him, managing a smile, and he reached out to squeeze Combeferre’s hand. “And I love you, too.”

Combeferre squeezed his hand back, before asking in a quiet voice, “You’re sure that you’re fine?”

“Well, the doctors tell me I probably have the flu,” Courfeyrac said dryly, his smile returning to normal. “But I really am fine. No blood shed, or anything like that. I promise”

Combeferre finally relaxed at those words, even sitting down in the chair next to Courfeyrac’s bed, but the relaxed mood did not last long, since from the doorway, Grantaire said slowly, “So let me get this straight — you two are…dating?”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, after getting Courfeyrac’s initial tests back, Combeferre was massaging his temples as he sat at his desk across from Grantaire, who looked gleeful. “Well, well, well,” Grantaire said slowly, smirking at him. “The two people constantly berating me for ‘breaking rules’ and ‘overstepping boundaries’, and now I find out that you two are the biggest rule breakers of all.”

“Engaging in a consensual relationship with a colleague hardly makes me the biggest rule breaker of all,” Combeferre sighed, rolling his eyes. “And it doesn’t even put me in the same  _realm_  as some of the rules  _you’ve_  broken, or need I remind you of the time when you lied to a transplant committee about your patient’s health?”

Grantaire snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. That was a long time ago.”

Combeferre leveled an incredulous look at him. “That was literally a week ago.”

“Whatever.” Grantaire leaned forward, his expression turning contemplative. “The question is what I’m going to do with this information now that I have it.”

“If you’re trying to blackmail me, I’d recommend against it,” Combeferre said evenly, just managing to not roll his eyes again. “The Board of Directors is fully informed of our relationship, as, interestingly, is your boyfriend, and most of the senior staff, and—”

Grantaire cut him off, looking wounded. “Enjolras knew about this? And didn’t tell me?”

Combeferre tried not to sound smug as he said, “It would appear so.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, there’ll be plenty of time to deal with that later. For the moment, I’ve got other concerns. And sure, maybe all the senior staff knows about it, but do the other staff members? Do the nurses? You know what nurses are like, and how they talk. And I happen to be on good terms with…well…at least one of them.”

Though it was mostly an idle threat — Grantaire got on notoriously poorly with the nurses, most of whom he had called incompetent at one time or another, in his always charming, asshole fashion — Combeferre nonetheless sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Grantaire?”

Sitting back in his chair, Grantaire smirked. “I want to treat Courfeyrac.”

“Treat Courfeyrac?” Combeferre repeated. “There’s nothing to treat. Courfeyrac has the flu, nothing more. Why would you want to treat a case as boring as that?”

“Boring?” Grantaire asked. “A healthy, thirty-two year man with no preexisting condition passes out and has to be brought to the hospital by ambulance and is diagnosed with just the flu, and you think that’s boring? There’s  _obviously_  an underlying condition.”

Combeferre frowned. “No, there  _obviously_  isn’t. It would be a stretch, even for you, to assume that there is, which means…” He trailed off, realization dawning over his face. “You’re  _bored_ , aren’t you?”

Grantaire snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. You’re bored, I know you’re bored. Enjolras is out of town this week at a conference in Chicago, isn’t he? And you’re bored and miserable and lonely, but you can’t take that out on my boyfriend and his rather simple case of the flu.”

Though Grantaire bristled slightly, he didn’t deny it, instead saying quickly, “If it’s that simple, what’s the harm in me taking a look at it?”

Combeferre chuckled and shook his head. “The list of possible harm that you could do is far too long for me to list here. But it doesn’t matter. Courfeyrac has the flu, plain and simple. So there’s no case for you to treat. Sorry.”

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Grantaire told him, standing up and turning to go, limping towards the door.

Combeferre frowned. “That’s it?” he asked, and Grantaire paused, glancing back at him. “No argument, no trying to convince me, no threats to tell the world that Courfeyrac and I are dating?”

Grantaire smirked and turned away, calling over his shoulder as he left, “Now where would be the fun in that?”

* * *

 

“Differential diagnosis, people,” Grantaire said loudly, tapping his cane on the table in his office. “Thirty-two year old male presenting with flu like symptoms after fainting.”

“Maybe he has the flu,” Prouvaire suggested dryly. He glanced up at Grantaire. “Where’s the patient file?”

Grantaire shrugged. “We don’t need it,” he said.

“Patient history?”

“Unnecessary.”

Prouvaire leaned forward, brow furrowed. “So you expect us to diagnose a patient without knowing anything about him?”

Feuilly, however, frowned at Grantaire and said, “Dr. Combeferre told you that you couldn’t take Courfeyrac’s case.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Dr. Combeferre is an idiot. And I never said it was Courfeyrac. Besides, who signs your paychecks, me or him?”

“He does,” all four of Grantaire’s associates answered in unison.

“Damn. Well, who could fire you at any time for any reason?” Bossuet started to answer, but Grantaire cut him off, grinning. “Trick question. We both can.” Bossuet muttered something that sounded like ‘just my luck’ under his breath as Grantaire continued, “But which of us is more likely to fire you at any time, just because we can?” All four were silent, and Grantaire’s smirk widened. “Exactly what I thought.”

Bahorel leaned forward. “Ok, so let’s pretend that we actually have permission to work on this case. With no patient history and no symptoms besides ILI symptoms, what are we supposed to work with?”

Grantaire settled down into his chair and pulled out his bottle of vicodin. “Now, see, there’s a question that’s actually sensible. I got a peek at the patient’s chart. His white cell count is normal — on the low side of normal, actually.”

“If he had the flu, the white count should be elevated as his body tried to fight it off,” Feuilly said, frowning.

Bossuet tapped his chin thoughtfully. “So either he  _doesn’t_  have the flu, and is just presenting with flu-like symptoms while his body is suffering from something not affecting his white count, or he does have the flu, and the elevated count from fighting the flu is being counteracted by the low count of whatever else he has.”

“Or,” Feuilly said loudly, still frowning, “he  _does_  have the flu, because everyone’s normal range of white blood cells is different, and this  _could_  be an elevated count for him.”

“Or,” Grantaire mocked, “you could have just volunteered to do all my clinic hours for this week. Off you go!”

Feuilly rolled his eyes and stood, leaving the office and heading in the direction of the clinic. Grantaire watched him go before saying firmly, “What we need are some more tests.”

Bossuet glanced at Bahorel, who just shrugged, before asking, “And since we’re not technically treating the patient, how are we supposed to run tests on him?”

“The admitting physician in the ER drew some blood. Provided the idiots in the lab haven’t completely fucked things up, there should be enough left to run a few basic tests. Enough to tell us if it is just the flu, or if something more is happening.” Grantaire glared at the three remaining physicians. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go do it!”

Bahorel and Bossuet left as quickly as they could, but Prouvaire stood slowly, lingering in the office, until Grantaire asked, not caring if he sounded rude, “Do you have a problem, Dr. Prouvaire?”

Prouvaire bit his lip before blurting, “You already think you know what it is, don’t you?”

For the first time, Grantaire didn’t smirk or make a glib remark. Instead, he looked away and said quietly, “I’ve seen something very similar before. White count was even in the same range.”

“And what did that patient have?”

Grantaire shrugged, still not looking at Jehan. “Leukemia.”

Jehan stared at him for a long moment before asking, his voice strained, “Do you  _want_  one of your only friends in this world to have cancer?”

“Of course not,” Grantaire said instantly, looking at Jehan as if surprised by the question.

“Then why are you insistent on running these tests?”

Grantaire crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Because if one of my only friends in this world  _does_  have cancer, I want to know about it so that we can  _do_  something about it.”

Jehan just looked at him for a long moment before asking softly, “We?”

Grantaire flushed slightly and looked away. “So that _he_ can do something about it,” he corrected himself, a little awkwardly. “You know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean,” Jehan said quietly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And I always knew that you cared a hell of a lot more than you let on.”

With that said, he turned and left, leaving Grantaire staring after him, completely bemused. Then he also stood and left his office, limping in the opposite direction as Prouvaire, towards Joly’s office.

* * *

 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Grantaire announced loudly, limping up behind Joly in the hospital cafeteria and clamping his hand down on Joly’s shoulder, almost causing Joly to spill his coffee all over himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Joly spluttered, glaring at Grantaire. “Give a man a little bit of warning, would you?”

Grantaire, however, was busy giving the woman sitting across from Joly his most charming — and thus most fake — smile. “Why, Dr. Joly, I had no idea you were entertaining a lady friend. Does your  _boyfriend_ , Dr. Bossuet, know that you’re entertaining a lady friend?”

The woman smirked at Grantaire and held her hand out to shake. “Dr. Grantaire,” she said. “I’m Musichetta and I’m just starting as a nurse here. I’m glad to know that all of the things that the nurses say about you are one hundred percent true.”

“Oh, the nurses never lie about me,” Grantaire told her cheerfully, sitting down next to Joly. “And I never lie about the fact that my best friend is currently sleeping with one of my associates.”

Musichetta winked at him. “With luck, he won’t be the only one sleeping with Dr. Bossuet.” She picked up her tray and walked away, both Joly and Grantaire gaping after her.

Grantaire recovered first, raising an eyebrow at Joly. “Damn,” he said.

Joly smirked at him. “Yeah, I know.” His expression turned more serious, and he asked, “You were looking for me? A consult for a patient?”

“Not quite,” Grantaire said, chewing on his bottom lip. “I think a mutual friend of ours might be ill — very ill.”

If Joly looked serious before, now he looked grave, and he steepled his fingers together. “Courfeyrac?” he asked quietly. “I’m assuming you have some sort of basis for this thought?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I think I do. My team is doing tests right now to try and find out for sure, but…I assume you know about him and Combeferre?” Joly nodded, and Grantaire sighed and looked away. “It’s always easier when it’s a stranger, when it’s someone that you don’t know.”

“Even if he’s sick, it doesn’t mean he’s going to die,” Joly reasoned. “You’re an excellent doctor, and I’m sure that whatever ends up happening, Courfeyrac is going to be fine, and he’s lucky to have you as his doctor.”

Shrugging again, Grantaire muttered, “There’s just one little flaw with that…I’m not actually Courfeyrac’s doctor.”

Joly raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said your team was running tests.”

“They are.”

Both of Joly’s eyebrows were raised now as he looked incredulously at Grantaire. “But he’s not your patient?”

Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s…complicated?”

Joly sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what else I expected,” he muttered. He looked at Grantaire sharply. “What exactly do you think Courfeyrac has?”

“Leukemia.”

The word hung heavily between them for a long moment before Joly managed to say softly, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, reaching for Joly’s coffee and taking a sip. “Oh.”

For a long moment, Joly struggled for something to say before attempting, “Leukemia isn’t fatal, not by any means, and—”

He was cut off by the sound of Grantaire’s beeper going off, and Grantaire looked down at it and sighed. “Yeah, it’s not fatal,” he agreed, “but now I’ve got to go hear my team tell me that Courfeyrac has leukemia, so allow me this moment of feeling like it just might be.”

Joly watched him go, a concerned look on his face.

* * *

 

“It’s not leukemia,” Prouvaire told Grantaire in an undertone as soon as Grantaire limped through the door.

Prouvaire was alone, Bahorel and Bossuet no where to be seen, and Grantaire frowned at him. “How can you be sure, from just one simple blood test?”

After a brief hesitation, Prouvaire held out the test results. “Because he came back as positive for something else, something that explains everything, from the white cell count to the flu-like symptoms.”

Grantaire took the test results from Jehan and looked at them, his expression falling. “Fuck.”

* * *

 

Combeferre leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on Courfeyrac’s hospital bed. “You’re lucky you have the comfy seat,” he complained. “Someone should do something about these. They suck.”

“Mmm,” Courfeyrac said noncommittally, grinning at Combeferre. “Luckily, I think I might know someone who has the ability to do something about that. And he happens to be a  _really_  hot doctor to boot.”

“Is that so?” Combeferre murmured, leaning in towards the hospital bed, his lips mere inches away from Courfeyrac’s. “You might just have to introduce us.”

Courfeyrac let out a low laugh and closed the space between them, reaching out to cup the back of Combeferre’s head, running his fingers through Combeferre’s hair. A low banging sound interrupted them, and Combeferre reluctantly pulled away, though he reached out to tangle his fingers with Courfeyrac’s before turning to see who was intruding.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said, sounding anything but. “Was I interrupting something?”

Combeferre made a growling sound low in his throat, but Courfeyrac squeezed his hand. “Dr. Grantaire,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you today?”

Grantaire closed the door to Courfeyrac’s room before limping over to the bed, setting a piece of paper on Courfeyrac’s lap. “It’s not really what you can do for me, so much as what I can do for you,” Grantaire said quietly.

Before Courfeyrac could even look at the paper, Combeferre had snatched it off the bed, reading it quickly before glaring at Grantaire. “I told you to leave it alone,” he said, his voice low. “Courfeyrac is not your patient.”

“If Courfeyrac isn’t my patient, then I’m not bound by doctor-patient confidentiality,” Grantaire said, his voice equally low. “And trust me, what that paper says is enough to make you want me to be his doctor right now.”

Courfeyrac glanced from Grantaire to Combeferre, his brow furrowed. “What does the paper say?” he asked.

Before Combeferre could answer, Grantaire told Courfeyrac, “That paper says that your white blood cell count is off. Specifically, your lymphocyte cells. Even more specifically, and in more layman’s terms, your T-Cell count.” Courfeyrac went very still, and after a moment, Grantaire continued, “Such a count is normally seen in patients with—”

“With HIV,” Courfeyrac said softly. “Yeah, I know.” He didn’t look over at Combeferre, whose expression was stony, instead asking Grantaire, “How far off are they? Are they very low?”

Grantaire blinked, and opened and closed his mouth before saying, “No, they’re not terribly low, though you might want to talk to your doctor about your drug regimen, since from the sound of things, this isn’t a surprise to you.”

“It isn’t.” It wasn’t Courfeyrac who responded but Combeferre’s, who voice shook with anger. “It isn’t a surprise to him, and it isn’t a surprise to me. Courfeyrac has known about this for a long time, has taken the necessary precautions for a long time, so for you to stand there, after I  _told_  you to let this go, and tell us this like it’s fucking  _news_ —”

Courfeyrac laid a gentle hand on Combeferre’s arm. “It’s not a big deal,” he said gently. “We were going to have to tell everyone anyway.”

Combeferre jerked his arm away from Courfeyrac. “It  _is_  a big deal,” he insisted, looking up at Courfeyrac, his expression serious. “Failure to disclose your condition…there’s precedence for disbarring an attorney who fails to reveal a condition like this, because the world is a cruel and prejudiced place still.”

“And we’re fighting to change that,” Courfeyrac reminded him softly. “You most of all.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Of course,” he said, mostly to himself. “That’s why you’ve been spearheading Les Amis’ work on HIV and AIDS education.”

Combeferre swallowed hard. “I just don’t want Courfeyrac to suffer because of this.”

Courfeyrac reached out to lace his fingers with Combeferre’s. “And you’re doing a wonderful job of that,” he told him in a low voice. “You’re a doctor, and the things you’ve been doing in this hospital with AIDS research as well as just being here for me…I’m not suffering. I promise you that.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “And I promise you, I won’t tell anyone about this.” Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac looked at him, Combeferre’s glare accusatory, Courfeyrac’s smile gentle. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. I’ve already changed Courfeyrac’s chart to show me as attending physician. The blood tests aren’t necessary for your diagnosis. The results will be carefully disposed of. After all, it’s just the flu.”

Combeferre looked back at Courfeyrac for a long moment before saying quietly, “Well, then I guess you got what you wanted, Dr. Grantaire, the chance to treat Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire cracked a smile, though it was pale imitation of his usual smirk. “Yeah. That, and I’m no longer bored.”

* * *

 

Joly paused in Grantaire’s office doorway, frowning at Grantaire, who was tossing a ball against the wall and catching it again. “So I heard you figured out what was wrong with Courfeyrac.”

“Yup,” Grantaire said, not looking at Joly. “Turns out it was just the flu. Who would’ve thunk it.”

Joly took a few steps into Grantaire’s office, his expression solemn. “Just the flu, huh?” he asked lightly. “Well, I guess there was no need for you to run tests or anything. Since they didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know. Or at least, anything I didn’t already know.”

Grantaire caught the call as it bounced off the wall and swiveled in his chair to face Joly. “So you knew. And you didn’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t my place to tell. Even if Courfeyrac isn’t my patient, I still believe in doctor-patient confidentiality, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre confided in me as a doctor, not as a friend.” Joly shrugged. “Even if I had wanted to tell you, which I didn’t, I couldn’t.”

Grantaire shrugged as well. “You were right not to tell me,” he said, turning away.

Joly frowned. “Did you learn anything from this?”

“Yeah, don’t get on Combeferre’s bad side. That guy has a temper.”

Snorting, Joly shook his head. “I was hoping for a bit of a deeper lesson than that. Like, maybe the fact that our friends are more than just patients, more than just cases for you to solve.”

Grantaire made a face and was about to respond but was interrupted by a knock on the door and Enjolras poking his head in, grinning at Grantaire. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Standing, Grantaire hobbled halfway to Enjolras, who met him in the middle and kissed him deeply. “You’re back early from your conference,” Grantaire said.

“Caught an early flight,” Enjolras told him. “There was just going to be drinking and schmoozing at the reception tonight, and you know how good I am with that.”

“That’s why you need to invite me to these kinds of things,” Grantaire said, smirking. “I can drink, and you can schmooze.”

Joly cleared his throat, and they both looked over at him. “I’m going to go,” Joly said, looking pointedly at Grantaire. “Hopefully we all learned something today.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire as Joly left. “Dare I ask what he’s talking about?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Just a case. You know I can’t talk about it.”

Enjolras pursed his lips slightly. “Well, what did I miss while I was gone that you  _can_  tell me about?”

Grantaire pulled him over to his desk, pushing him against it and kissing him again before telling him, “Courfeyrac came down with the flu. That’s about it. Everything else was…uneventful.”

Enjolras kissed down Grantaire’s jaw to his neck, smiling against the taut skin there when Grantaire shivered. “Well, it’s a good thing so many of Courfeyrac’s friends are doctors.”

Nodding, Grantaire was lost in thought for a long moment, then shook his head and smiled at Enjolras. “Enough about Courfeyrac. Let’s go home.”

* * *

 

“I honestly can’t believe you made me sit in the wheelchair all the way to the car,” Courfeyrac complained as Combeferre unlocked their apartment door. “I’m not an invalid. I had the  _flu_.”

Combeferre chuckled lightly and held the door open for Courfeyrac. “It’s hospital policy, and I wouldn’t be a very good administrator if I let my secret boyfriend and the hospital attorney break that policy. It would reflect poorly on me, and on the hospital.”

Courfeyrac heaved a sigh and collapsed on to the couch. “Reflect poorly my ass. You just get off on me being unable to do anything to fight back against you.”

“Well, maybe,” Combeferre said with a grin, bending to kiss Courfeyrac’s temple. “Do you want some tea? You  _are_  still recovering, and you know fluids are good for you.”

“You’re just going to make me drink some anyway,” Courfeyrac said, tilting his head to capture Combeferre’s lips with his own. Combeferre kissed him back for a moment then pulled away, heading into the kitchen where he puttered around, putting the kettle on the stove. Courfeyrac watched him, a contented smile on his lips. “You were amazing, you know, the way you stood up for me and my…condition. Wrong, probably, especially taking it out on Grantaire, but amazing nonetheless.”

Combeferre’s shoulders stiffened. “I wasn’t wrong,” he said, though he didn’t sound particularly convinced. “And it wasn’t Grantaire’s place to even be looking into that. So much shit is caught up in the misperception of HIV positive individuals, even in today’s world, and—”

“You don’t have to preach to me,” Courfeyrac told him, cutting him off. “I know how the world works. And I know what you’re trying to do to fix it.”

They fell silent for a few minutes until the tea kettle started whistling. “Grantaire wasn’t wrong to be concerned, you know,” Courfeyrac said casually, accepting the steaming mug of tea from Combeferre when he came back into the living room. “This kind of thing, me getting sick — it’s probably going to happen more frequently as time goes on. You know that.”

“I do,” Combeferre said, his voice low as he settled next to Courfeyrac on the couch, tucking the afghan more securely around both of them. “But we’re also getting older, and a natural part of getting older involves weakened immune systems. So it’s not logical to blame it solely on that.”

Courfeyrac snorted and laid his head against Combeferre’s shoulder. “You’re a doctor,” he said quietly. “You’re supposed to be the logical one, the one relying on medical evidence.”

“And medical evidence says that for the moment, you are healthy and whole and we have nothing to worry about, and I will cling to that with every fiber of my being until it is physically impossible for me to do so any longer,” Combeferre told him, his voice fierce. “You are not your disease, and you have a long, full life ahead of you.”

Courfeyrac laced his fingers with Combeferre’s and brought their joined hands up to his lips, kissing them softly. “ _We_  have a long, full life ahead of us,” Courfeyrac told him. “There’s no one else I would rather have at my side for this, and not because you’re a doctor.”

Combeferre smiled and kissed Courfeyrac. “Oh, really?” he teased. “Then I guess we don’t need to explore your medical kink any further…”

Courfeyrac made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and pulled Combeferre closer to kiss him soundly. “Well, not  _just_  because you’re a doctor.” He kissed him again before telling him, “I love you.”

Combeferre kissed him back, pulling him closer. “I love you, too.” 


End file.
